Practice
by My Fluffy Scarf
Summary: Shepard and Garrus are both nervous about "blowing off steam," so Shepard has an idea that may ease both their nerves. First time posting a Mass Effect fic. Rated M for smut. Might end up being a one-shot.


**Author's Note: I'm back! Haven't published a story in **_**years, **_**and this is my first Mass Effect fic. I have this headcanon that Shepard and Garrus did a fair bit of fooling around before Collector Base Eve, because I don't think "space magic" is a good explanation for how each somehow knew what the other liked. Not my best writing; I'm really rusty, and I didn't even touch it editing-wise (I knew I would never post it if I looked too closely). Throw constructive criticism at me. :) But be nice.**

"Shepard. Need me for something?"

"Have you got a minute?" she asked.

"Definitely. Part of me still thinks we're crazy for even considering…blowing off steam. But I want to try it with you. I want a few moments that are just for us before we throw ourselves into Hell for the good of the galaxy."

Shepard smiled. "I want that, too, Garrus."

"Glad to hear it. I'll do some, uh, research, and figure out how to…you know." Shepard cocked an eyebrow. "Okay, that sounded bad," he admitted.

As the two of them leaned against the crate in the corner—Shepard's usual seat—there was a pause in which they looked anywhere in the room but at each other. Suddenly Shepard blurted, "I'm nervous, too." Garrus finally looked at her, surprised at this confession. "You said last time we talked that I couldn't make you uncomfortable, just nervous. I feel the same way." A shy smile crept onto Shepard's face, and Garrus found himself smiling slightly back at her; it was so rare to see a lack of surety on Commander Shepard's face.

"You? Nervous?" Garrus chuckled drily. "You're Commander Shepard. You brought the might of the Alliance to bear on a being that no one believed existed. You brought down a rogue Spectre. Hell, you came back from the dead, pissed off and ready to fight again. Me? I couldn't even manage to come out on top of the scum of Omega or hold down a job at C-Sec. I'm the one who should be nervous."

A slightly longer pause followed this little speech, in which Shepard gazed at him with that narrow-eyed, purse-lipped expression that made Garrus feel as though she were looking straight through his eyes into his head and memorizing what she found there. In the past, he'd always averted his eyes from that stare after a few moments. This time, he held her eyes and wondered what she was thinking.

"I don't want a horrible, inter-species awkwardness thing, Garrus."

He huffed a nervous laugh. "Well, of course I don't, either, and obviously I hope that the night-to-treasure scenario is the accurate one, but—unless you want to—I don't know—practice or something, I don't really see a way of guaranteeing…." He faltered in his speech. He knew the look that was growing on her face.

Commander Shepard had an idea.

"Are you sure about this?"

She was giving him that look again as she asked, the one that reminded him that those eyes missed nothing. He made sure he was looking straight back into her eyes, nerves be damned, as he answered. "I'm sure."

"Are you still nervous?"

"Yes," he admitted, knowing it was no use lying to her.

She lifted her hand to his shoulder, and he noted with surprise that she was trembling slightly. "Me too." A bit of the tension melted from the air as they looked at one another, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Let's sit down," she suggested.

Leading him to the couch—not, he noted with some relief, to the bed—she slid her hand down his arm to his hand and gripped his fingers gently.

"You've seen humans holding hands before?" she asked him.

"Yeah…sometimes."

"It's just a casual display of affection," she told him, "but under the right circumstances it can hold a certain amount of intimacy."

Garrus swallowed. "Yeah, I can see what you mean." The smirk on her face told him she'd heard the quiver in his subharmonics and recognized it for what it was. Simply touching her—like this, outside of a combat situation—strange as it was, helped ease his nerves yet further. Her hand was so soft, and so _tiny_. He eased his fingers from her grip, instead turning her hand over in both of his. "Do you mind?" he asked. She shook her head and held her hand flat so that he could examine it.

He could feel the bones underneath that alien human skin, more delicate than he'd have thought possible, like a bird's. He traced the lines on her palms—human skin was so thin that it _creased?_—and ran a talon down each of her five fingers. When he finally looked up, she was smiling again.

"Your face—you look like you're concentrating on a really complicated firing algorithm," she teased him, and he laughed. "My turn?" she asked, and he obligingly held his hand out to her.

"Your…talons. I read that turian talons are very sharp, but yours…"

"I file them down," he said. "I can't always wear gloves when I work on the gun, and human tech is made for human hands—wait, where did you read anything about turian talons?"

Her expression tipped him off a moment before she spoke, and they spoke together: "Mordin." Their shared laughter rang through the room, dissolving a bit more of the tension.

"Nosy little pyjak," Shepard said. "But some of those diagrams seemed…helpful." Her face suddenly flushed red, and he tentatively touched her cheek with a blunted talon.

"I've been meaning to ask you why you do that," he said.

"Do what?"

"Your face turns red sometimes…I notice it after missions, or when you're angry…." He stopped and drew his hands back into his lap, worried that she was angry with him now.

But she shook her head. "Turians express emotion mostly through subharmonics, right?" He nodded and she went on, "Human emotions mostly show through facial expression. When our faces turn red—we call it blushing—it's because blood gathers under the skin and changes the color. It usually happens because of physical exertion, anger, embarrassment…or lust," she added quietly, her eyes flicking downward as the reddish color in her cheeks intensified.

Garrus felt a twinge of guilt that he had embarrassed her and a rush of anxiety and excitement at the possibility of having aroused her so easily. "Sorry," he said hastily as the silence lengthened. "I didn't mean to—"

"No, no, Garrus," Shepard said, waving off his apology. "Don't be sorry; I don't blame you for asking. I can see why it might be a bit alarming when your commander suddenly starts changing color." They laughed, and Garrus took enough heart from her words to draw her hands back into his.

"How do turians show affection?" she asked, turning the conversation back.

"Publicly, we generally don't," he told her. "There are a few things, but most of them are a bit…intimate."

"Show me?" she asked quietly. He met her eyes again and noticed that the flush had not subsided from her cheeks. "Only if you want to, of course."

"I suppose the most basic one…well, like I said, turians aren't very physically affectionate, but this is pretty common, although it's not much—but I figure to start off with—"

"Garrus!" Shepard stopped him, laughing. "Just show me. I promise, I've got an open mind over here."

Very carefully, Garrus placed his hand on the back of her head and guided his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes as he gently nuzzled her, just the tiniest contact, and he felt her breath catch. After a few moments, her eyes opened slowly and he noticed for the first time what a vivid shade of green they were. She smiled and said nothing, but nuzzled him back.

"Your turn," he whispered when several long seconds had passed.

"My turn?"

"What other ways do humans have of showing affection?"

"Well, obviously, there's hugging, but I seem to remember you and I had a discussion about hugging before…well, back on the original Normandy." He was glad she didn't mention the Collector attack. "So, I guess…well," she looked vaguely embarrassed and pulled away just enough to be able to see him clearly. "Looking at it objectively, it sounds a little weird, but there's kissing, too." She cleared her throat and explained, "I don't know how to describe it, exactly, but it's mouth-to-mouth contact."

"Oh—well—hmm." Garrus very nearly asked whether or not that was dangerous—it sounded like an excellent way to spread disease—but she looked so anxious about his response that he refrained. "What exactly does that involve?" he asked, feeling just a little apprehensive.

"Um, humans use their lips…ugh, there's no way to really describe it without making it sound…well, gross. But it isn't," she added earnestly; "it's very intimate. Humans have a lot of nerve endings in and around their mouths, so it feels…nice."

Garrus pondered this for a moment, and, remembering how open-minded she'd been a few moments ago, said, "Show me?"

Very, very slowly, and giving him every chance to ask her to stop, Shepard placed a hand on his shoulder and one on his scarred mandible. She leaned in and then paused, and then their mouths met—just the tiniest bit of pressure at first. When he didn't ask her to stop, she leaned in again and he could feel her soft, slightly moist lips brushing against his mouth plates—he clumsily reciprocated her movements, though it wasn't entirely effective. After a long moment, she pulled back long enough to speak.

"Is this okay?" she asked breathlessly.

Garrus was silent for a moment, then he smiled gently. While this was still new and foreign to him, he could feel the intimacy of the act, and he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Can we…try something else?"

He nodded again, and she said, "You can tell me if you don't like it." Before he even had time to worry about what she could be planning, her mouth was on his again and he placed his hand on the side of her neck. He could feel her pulse under his fingers; it was racing. Suddenly he felt something even softer and wetter than her lips tracing the edges of his mouth plates—her tongue? He drew back, surprised, before he even had a chance to think about it.

"Garrus?" she asked anxiously. She looked so vulnerable in that moment that he could have kicked himself for hurting her feelings.

"Sorry," he said, grasping the hand that wasn't still resting on his mandible and stroking her knuckles with his thumb. "I was just…surprised. Try again?"

Shepard looked conflicted, but leaned in to kiss him again. This time, when he felt her tongue on his mouth plates, he tentatively flicked his out to meet her. They explored each other slowly, and as the kiss went on, Garrus began to see why Shepard had described kissing as intimate—there was no other word for it. He could feel her breath, warm and quick against his plates, and her pulse racing under his hand—he could get lost in this.

Finally, Shepard broke the kiss and their foreheads met instead. Her eyes opened slowly and he could see that she was waiting for him to say something.

"That was…nice," he said lamely.

Shepard chuckled under her breath, her fingers now tracing very distracting patterns along his mandible. "Really?"

"Really."

"Good," she replied, the relief evident in her voice. "I was afraid I was going to cross some cultural boundary or something."

"Well, even if you were, I'm not a very good turian anyway, remember?"

"I think you're just fine," Shepard said, eyes softening.

"Shepard?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I touch your hair?"

She let out another breathy laugh. "Sure."

He reached up tentatively and wound a lock of her reddish hair around his finger. "So you don't have any nerves in your hair?"

"No, it's made of dead cells. Well, I can feel it if you pull it—that hurts if you do it too hard—but there's no sensation anywhere but at the very roots, where it connects to my scalp."

Gaining confidence, Garrus unwound the lock of hair from his finger and instead opted to run his talons gently through her hair. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Shepard closed her eyes, letting out a little noise of pleasure, and said, "That feels nice." Only a few seconds had passed before Shepard opened her eyes. "Garrus?"

"Mm?"

"Where should I touch you?"

Garrus was taken slightly aback by the abrupt question. "Well, there's…um…ah, let's see, you could…"

Shepard interrupted him by placing her hands back into his. "Show me," she said again.

With a rush of gratitude, Garrus obliged. "There's this," he said, guiding her hands up to the back of his neck, under his fringe.

"No plates here," she commented.

"Yeah, that's what makes it…sensitive." He swallowed hard.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Shepard asked, pausing when he drew in a sharp breath.

"No, no, that…it feels good." He was trying to control the pace of his breathing. She had _so many_ fingers.

For the first time, he caught the flicker of a mischevious smirk on her face as her fingers continued to massage and probe under his fringe. "Is the rest of your neck sensitive, too?"

"Yes," he said, not trusting himself to say more because he thought his voice might waver. It had been a long time since anybody had touched him like this.

"Can I try something?"

Garrus swallowed again and nodded. As slowly as she had before, she brought her face in close to his—he thought for a moment that she was going to kiss him again, but she was leaning to his left…she nuzzled into the spot where his neck and shoulder met—Spirits, he could feel her quickened breath against the sensitive hide between his plates—and then he felt the warmth of her mouth against his skin, then the moisture of her tongue—_Spirits—_and when her teeth grazed his skin, he just managed to bite back a moan of longing. "Shepard, I…"

"Is this okay?" she mumbled against his skin. He could feel her lips moving with every word.

"Too okay," he gasped.

She laughed, a sultry sort of giggle that he had never heard from her before, and pulled away from him with one last nip. He felt a strange mixture of regret and relief when she stopped.

"So," he said, ignoring the self-satisfied smirk on Shepard's face, "my turn?"

Without a word, she took his hands in hers again and lifted them to her chest. "Human men tend to be big fans of breasts," she told him. Placing her hands over his, she showed him how to cup and massage them gently through her shirt. He swatted her hands away after a few seconds and experimented with different motions and pressure, noting as he went that running his thumb over the nub in the center made her gasp and that she'd squirmed uncomfortably when he squeezed too hard.

"Garrus?"

"Shepard?"

"Take off your shirt."

Garrus felt his mandibles flare in surprise. "My…?"

"I want to see what you look like," she said. "The pictures Mordin sent…" she shuddered slightly. "Too medical. If I see the phrase 'erogenous zone' one more time, I may have to throw myself out of the airlock."

Garrus laughed nervously. "I know what you mean." They looked at each other for a few more moments before Garrus reached up and undid the clasps of his tunic, removing it and draping it neatly over the back of the couch.

Shepard stared at him with an expression of utmost concentration; the sort of focus he would expect from her if she were looking at a particularly complex pistol mod. She was, he remembered, _inordinately_ fond of her pistol. Remembering this little tidbit about her helped to ease some of his nerves, and he allowed her to look, trying hard not to feel self-conscious.

"Can I touch you?" she asked quietly.

"Of course," he rumbled, and he wondered if she could hear what his subharmonics were implying.

Her hands moved lightly over his carapace first, and then traveled downward, mapping out the lines between his plates and tracing gently over old scars. Possibly sensing his tension as her hands moved lower, she stopped and finally looked back up at his face. "Your waist, I remember…it's…?"

"Not—not as sensitive as under the fringe," he explained, "but still…you generally wouldn't touch anyone's waist in public." His breath hitched immediately when she placed her hands on either side of his waist, and he couldn't help it—he grabbed her by the waist, too, not nearly as gently as she was touching him, and pulled her toward him until she was straddling his legs. Ignoring her startled gasp, he buried his face in her neck on a hunch. He was rewarded for his clumsy attempts at kissing her skin and his _very careful_ nips when just the tiniest sound of pleasure escaped her throat.

"Shepard," he mumbled, running his tongue over the spots where he'd nipped her, "was this a really good idea or a really bad idea?"

"Both," she gasped.

"Take off your shirt," said Garrus raggedly. "Please."

This time, Shepard didn't hesitate. She pulled the hem of her shirt up over her head and threw it aside, and Garrus was suddenly very, very aware that he was seeing more of her skin now than he ever had before. Heart hammering, he traced her clavicles with trembling fingers. She was just so soft…and her breasts, without the layer of fabric over them, felt even softer as he cupped them in his hands and thumbed the nubs he had noticed before. At this, Shepard arched her back and bit her lip, and he took heart from her reaction, continuing his attentions until he found himself distracted by _her_ waist. Allowing his hands to roam as they pleased, he found himself mapping out the curve of waist to hip—so subtle, compared to the hard lines of turian females—and then his fingers were following her spine up to her shoulder blades, and he felt her shiver. "Take off your pants," she said.

"Oh, no, Shepard, I'm not making the same mistake again," he countered, smirking. "I gave you the tactical advantage last time. Now it's my turn." He tugged at the hem of her pants. "Off."

Shepard laughed and complied, baring herself completely, and Garrus couldn't help but stare. How _strange,_ that expanse of uninterrupted skin. Her waist curved in a completely alien way, and everything below her hips was utterly bemusing. How could she keep her balance when her knees curved like that? And so many _toes,_ not even to mention the all-around strange shape of her feet.

Then his eyes traveled back up her body to her face, which was holding the amused smirk he was so familiar with, even if it did hold a bit of anxious anticipation at the moment. This time, when his eyes traveled back down, he saw new things.

Strange as the curve from hip to waist was, he could see the softness and the beauty of her alien body. He could see the several scars marring her otherwise smooth skin, and there were darker spots here and there, just enough to remind him of a starry sky on a cloudy night. Where he was all hard angles and points, her shape was of sweeping lines and gentle curves.

And then there were her eyes. Those vividly green eyes that darkened when she was angry and positively glowed when she was excited. The eyes which had looked earnestly into his as she said, "This isn't you, either." The eyes that could see him more clearly than anyone else's before or since he'd first met them in Dr. Michel's office.

This was _Shepard. _And he wanted her.

Smiling, Garrus extended a hand to invite her back onto the couch. She obliged; he placed his mouth against her ear and whispered, "You're beautiful."

The red flush crept back into Shepard's cheeks; Garrus could feel her face heating up against his mandible. "You really think so?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"I really do."

"Your turn?"

"Sure," he said, a hint of anxiety creeping back up. He hoisted himself up from his seat and deftly undid his fastenings, sliding the garment off before he had a chance to become too nervous. He glanced nervously at Shepard's face, to gauge her reaction, but she was giving nothing away. After a moment, she asked, "You need…stimulation, right? To, to…" she gestured vaguely, "you know."

Garrus laughed. "So you did watch the vids. I'm impressed."

"Oh, shut up." She mimicked his gesture from earlier, extending a hand to him, and he sat back down, taking her hand.

"Garrus?"

"Yes?"

She smiled, her eyes bright. "I think you're beautiful, too." Before he had a chance to do more than flutter his mandibles helplessly, she continued, "I want to touch you." She squeezed the hand she was holding. His clouded mind registered that she didn't mean his crest, carapace, or even his waist. "Show me?" she asked.

Garrus swallowed and guided her hand down to the seam between his groin plates, showing her where to run her fingers, and it was only a second before his plates shifted and he emerged, right into her waiting hands.

Shepard looked up at him, and smiled in a way that meant "this is weird, but it's okay," and proceeded to stroke him with long, slow movements that made him squirm with desire. Whatever differences they had, this clearly wasn't going to be a problem. Her hands were incredibly soft, and their many fingers weren't a problem here. He couldn't restrain a groan as her strokes grew in confidence and speed.

"Shepard, I—I want to touch you, too," he managed to say.

"Bed?" she suggested. He nodded and she stood, holding out a hand to pull him to his feet as well. No sooner was he off of the couch than she was kissing him again, and this time, he met her halfway, teasing her soft lips with his slightly rougher tongue, drawing little noises from her as he caressed any part of her he could reach.

Somehow, they managed to make it to the bed, collapsing onto it side-by-side, and she propped herself up on her elbow to look at him, her face worried.

"We're not—?"

"No," he agreed, half-relieved and half-disappointed. It was too soon for more than…practice.

"That's good. I think."

Garrus laughed again. "I was just thinking the same thing."

Her laughter joined his, and then abruptly, her lips found his mouth plates again, her hand was making its way between his legs, and he could hardly think past the haze of red that was taking over his brain. His fingers found her waist and he gripped hard; perhaps she could feel the increasing pressure of his grasp, because she leaned in close and whispered, "Garrus…." And suddenly, he came, and she pumped him faster even as he covered her hand in thick cum—wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him until, at last, he fell limp and her motions slowed and stopped.

He was still lying still, trying to catch his breath, when he felt her move away from him. He looked over and saw that she was wiping her hands on a towel she'd picked out of the laundry basket next to her bed.

"Sorry," she said, "but Mordin said something about a potential reaction."

Garrus huffed a breathless laugh. "I'll try not to be too offended."

When Shepard had thrown the towel back into the basket, she turned back to him, grinning with self-satisfaction.

"So, was it good for you?" she joked.

"Definitely," he replied, placing his hand back on her waist and moving in close to nip and nuzzle at her neck. "Now…your turn." He felt her breathing catch and his mandibles flicked outward in a brief grin. Taking her hand, he pulled back enough to look at her. "Show me."

Smiling shyly, she guided his hand between her legs, placing the pad of his finger against her little nub. "Gently," she reminded him, and rubbed his fingers in slow circles over her clit, and a positively _obscene_ moan escaped her lips—his retreating member gave a twitch at the sound of it.

Almost reluctantly, it seemed, she took his hand again and pressed his index finger against her entrance, guiding it inside of her. "Bend your finger—there's a spot just—mmm, right…." She sighed in bliss. "Bonus points if you can hit both those spots at once," she challenged him.

Never one to miss an opportunity to show off his dexterity, he placed his palm firmly against her clit, and began to massage her. He bent the finger that was still inside her with each downward motion, and soon Shepard was writhing and moaning under him. He quickened his pace, relishing in the way her lips parted in a silent moan and the way her fingers gripped the arm that was supporting his weight as though it were a lifeline.

Finally, back arching off the bed, Shepard cried out in ecstasy, and he continued his motions until, gradually, she stopped bucking her hips and lay still.

He had a moment to just stare at her as she caught her breath. Her face was even more flushed than before, just the barest hint of sweat at her brow. The reddish hair that covered her head was tousled, spread across the pillow in every direction, and her eyes were closed, savoring the aftermath. Finally, she opened her eyes, and Garrus realized that her brow was smoother, her mouth more relaxed, and her eyes brighter than he'd seen them in a long time.

Garrus shifted his weight to lay on his side, and Shepard turned to face him. They stared at each other for several long seconds, relishing in the post-orgasmic glow, until Shepard spoke.

"So, you watched the vids, too?"

Garrus burst into laughter. "What can I say? I'm nothing if not thorough." He lay a hand at the dip of her waist and let it rest there, her skin hot and damp under his fingers. "So, can I take that as a compliment?" he asked, a hint of nerves coming back to him.

Shepard smiled softly, the fading red flush returning to her cheeks in force. "Yes," she said quietly, something new blooming behind her bright green eyes.

Garrus's heart clenched in his chest, and suddenly, he had the sensation of falling through a trap door, the ground disappearing from under his feet, air whooshing past him…_Fuck._

"Shepard…."

There was a depth to his subharmonics that had not been there before, the layers of his voice becoming more distinct, and he could see in her face that, alien or not, she had heard it and knew it for what it was.

Under the surface, beneath his notice, behind the banter and the playfully snarky comments, something had developed between them. Too late to stop it, though he wasn't sure he would have even if given the chance.

"Shepard, I—"

Shepard placed a finger to his mouth, quieting him—all for the better; he wasn't sure exactly what he'd planned to say, anyway. "You don't need to say anything."

Garrus pulled her in for a kiss, felt her lips smiling against his mouth plates as she responded, shivered when she ran her fingers down his waist. She had too many fingers, her knees bent the wrong way, her skin was almost frighteningly soft and her flesh more tender than he'd ever have imagined, but she was _Shepard._

"No," he whispered against her lips, "but I can show you."


End file.
